Every Tuesday
by style xx
Summary: He knows Kenny will forgive his father someday. [KyleKenny]


I wrote this entire thing while hypoglycemic.

Also, about chapter 5 of METhOD. The only reason it's not up yet is a computer accessibility issue. It's done, though. I'll try to get it up.

Disclaimed.

Every Tuesday  
He knows Kenny will forgive his father someday. mild KyleKenny

--

Every Tuesday, it's the same thing.

Wet snow falls, barely gathering in tiny white clumps before it melts in the grass and mud. Kyle hazards an upward glance, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. He sniffs gently, nose red from the cold, and stands there in the sunless afternoon light, watching the back of an orange-hooded head.

He hears Kenny inhale deeply and then sigh. He knows how much the boy wishes he could really die for good and not come back again. That is why they always visit the cemetery; Kenny thinks that being here is the closest to death he can get.

Kyle yawns as the boy standing directly ahead of him looks down at a bare, muddy grave.

"I thought I might have inherited it from him," Kenny says quietly, thinking about his inability to die as he stared at the mud before the small, generic headstone.

"I know."

Kenny shifts almost imperceptibly. "I guess not."

Kyle tilts his head, e yes trained on the back of Kenny's head as he watches the blonde think. He yawns again.

Every Tuesday, they come here and Kenny does the same thing. He stares down at Stuart McCormick's grave and thinks about a time when the man was alive, and he knows, deep down, he will have to forgive his father eventually, but not this time. Never this time.

After a minute or two of Kenny's thought and Kyle's practiced patience, the boy in faded orange turns his head just enough that Kyle will know he is being addressed.

"Okay," says Kenny.

Kyle's right hand emerges from his coat, and he walks forward until he is just beside the thin blonde teen. With a precarious smile and telling 'clic,' Kyle presses his gun to the temple of Kenny's head and leans in until he is breathing Kenny's air.

Kenny's holding his breath when Kyle presses the barrel to his head a bit harder, brushing warm lips over his own.

"Seeya," Kyle mutters against his mouth, closing his eyes and forcing his finger to pull.

Bang—

Kyle immediately steps back and looks almost sick, but he stares at the neat splatter of blood on Mr. McCormick's grave and just has to laugh inside. Killing Kenny isn't murder; it's more like a wife sending her husband off to work in the morning with a warm smile and quick kiss before he steps out the 'door.'

And, Kyle thinks, as far as the conscience is concerned, this really is Kenny's job.

Kyle knows that Kenny keeps hoping this will be the last time and he won't come back again. Kenny always says it's because he's just sick of the world and of life, and Kyle believes him, but he knows that Kenny is also trying to exempt himself from ever having to forgive the man he dies six feet over every Tuesday afternoon.

Kyle clicks his tongue and crouches down by the oddly-sprawled form of his boyfriend. He gently rolls Kenny's head so he's facing heaven, and – having completely forgotten that the thick, sticky blood was even there – pulls his hand away as if burned; startled by the warm and wet red.

He stares at his hand and listens to his racing heart, releasing the breath he'd held in his surprise. He turns his gaze to the blood-matted, muddy grass and wonders if, after months of Kenny's Tuesday afternoon practice, there are any bloodstains to find on the coffin beneath it.

Kyle sighs, desensitizes himself, and runs and idle finger through an unsunken pool of blood directly beside Kenny's head. He sniffs once more and blinks rapidly as a cold wind hits his eyes.

He looks down and chuckles, noticing how Kenny's face looks so confused when he's dead. Kyle giggles louder, feeling giddy. He leans forward in his crouch and takes his blood-covered finger to Kenny's face, smirking as he paints a curly moustache just above his blue lip.

He snorts and bites his own lip, wondering if this is inappropriate, but this is really too funny for him to care about that very long. He dips his finger in the blood again and traces it back over the moustache, solidifying the cartoony addition.

He rather likes the way Kenny's cold flesh surrenders beneath his fingertip; moves this-way-and-that-way depending on his commands. What he does with Kenny's corpse every Tuesday (and whenever he happens to die in between) is really the only control Kyle has over that boy.

He stands and looks down at his sickly artwork, tapping his finger to his mouth and wondering how it's going for Kenny in Hell. Every Tuesday, the blonde goes down there and seeks out his daddy. They've made no progress, but he knows Kenny keeps going because he's going to need some closure. That's why Kyle goes behind his boyfriend's back to pray for him every night, asking God to keep Kenny coming back until he finds it.

Mindlessly, Kyle sucks his finger clean of blood and sends the corpse a little, loving, pink-toothed grin.

Every Tuesday for three and a half months now, and they'll keep coming back until Kenny finally has a grave of his own. Kyle knows in his heart that, when he does, he'll want it to be right here in this spot, beside his father.

--

Thanks. Reviews appreciated.


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